


Love you true

by ladylapislazuli



Category: 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい | Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?! (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: Kurosawa really is the perfect boyfriend. Handsome, kind, endlessly patient and positively overflowing with affection for Adachi, no matter the circumstance. Sometimes it feels like Kurosawa stepped out of a romantic drama, an impossibly devoted dream man brought miraculously to life.It’s nice. Adachi isn’t complaining. He’s well aware of how lucky he is.It’s just... it makes Adachi worry sometimes, too.
Relationships: Adachi Kiyoshi/Kurosawa Yuichi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 276





	Love you true

Kurosawa really is the perfect boyfriend.

“Here, let me,” he says, holding out Adachi’s coat. Not just holding it out for Adachi to take – holding it out like one might for royalty, fully intending to put it on _for_ him.

Adachi blinks, still on the sofa. He looked away for _two seconds_ , setting his empty bag of snacks on the coffee table and wiping his salty fingers on his pants, and Kurosawa practically materialised on the other side of the room. Adachi’s coat in hand, radiant smile in place, his own coat already snug about his person.

He’s fast. Adachi has no idea how he does it, and he never knows how to respond to these gestures. Stumbles over, feeling too big for his skin, not quite sure what the etiquette is but conscious this is, in fact, a romantic moment. It’s just that no one’s put his coat on for him since he was a very small child. Why would they have? So he doesn’t really know what to do.

But Kurosawa’s smile is blinding, and Adachi doesn’t have a solid argument against this kind of pampering. So holds out his arms, feeling awkward, and Kurosawa slips him into his coat like he’s made a study of it. His hands are swift and confident. Lingering, too, as he smooths the coat down around Adachi, trailing hands wandering to his waist so Kurosawa can squeeze him from behind.

Adachi’s heart is beating too fast. Kurosawa is so _smooth_. He presses a kiss to Adachi’s cheek, audibly inhaling, and Adachi feels embarrassingly weak at the knees.

“There. Now you’re perfect,” Kurosawa murmurs in his ear.

Adachi stutters something nonsensical in reply because he, unlike Kurosawa, never manages to be smooth. Another thing that never seems to phase Kurosawa. If anything, Kurosawa _likes_ it, as he seems to like all of Adachi’s many flaws.

He really is the perfect boyfriend. Handsome, kind, endlessly patient and positively overflowing with affection for Adachi, no matter the circumstance. Sometimes it feels like Kurosawa stepped out of a romantic drama, an impossibly devoted dream man brought miraculously to life. 

It’s nice. Adachi isn’t _complaining_. He’s well aware of how lucky he is.

It’s just... it makes Adachi worry sometimes, too.

\- - -

So here’s the thing: Kurosawa isn’t perfect around him all the time anymore. Bit by bit he’s dropping his guard and letting Adachi see his imperfections. His cupboards are cluttered and his socks are worn and he drools on Adachi’s chest one time when he falls asleep as they’re tangled together on the couch.

Kurosawa does, admittedly, freak out a bit when he wakes up, and it takes him a while to relax enough to sleep on Adachi again. But Adachi has discovered Kurosawa has trouble saying no to him - another point in the _perfect boyfriend_ category - and so eventually he persuades Kurosawa back, drool and all. It’s nice. Kurosawa is so soft and unguarded in these moments, handsome features slack, his body a warm, comforting weight, and Adachi is so in love he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

In that sense, things are getting better. The impossibly perfect Kurosawa is giving way to a less perfect Kurosawa, one who’s goofy and makes mistakes and has quirks and eccentricities he’s self-conscious about, and Adachi likes him even more.

So Kurosawa as a human man isn’t perfect. But Kurosawa as a _boyfriend_... 

He’s textbook, romance novel, dashing leading man perfect. Sometimes Adachi wonders if there’s some sort of competition going on, because Kurosawa moves through their relationship like he’s trying to win himself a medal. Adachi half expects to turn around and find a camera.

“Adachi,” he’ll say when they meet in the office, smile bright and eyes lingering. Hands kept to himself, professional, but eyes unmistakably shining every time their gazes meet.

“Kiyoshi,” he’ll say when they’re alone together, breathing Adachi’s name like a prayer, cupping Adachi’s face in his hands and pressing tender kisses to Adachi’s lips.

“Sweetheart,” he’ll murmur into Adachi’s shoulder in the morning, arm wrapped around Adachi’s waist, persuading Adachi to go back to sleep so Kurosawa can get up and cook him the perfect meal.

He’s the ideal boyfriend. He spoils Adachi, and takes him on dates, and whispers sweet nothings in his ear. He buys him chocolates and clothing and even roses, sometimes, though in yet another best-boyfriend move he’s careful never to embarrass Adachi with his gifts. He slow dances with Adachi on the balcony beneath the light of the moon, staring deep into his eyes – not as a one-off, but a recurring event. He introduces Adachi to his family, holding his hand beneath the table and smiling that radiant smile all around the table. He _proposed_ – kind of, sort of, Adachi’s still not entirely clear – very early in their relationship, and he’s only gotten more committed since. He’s started saving up to buy a bigger apartment. He keeps talking about taking a trip overseas together, one that Kurosawa insists he alone will pay for. He’s nice to Adachi’s _mother_.

He’s perfect. And he’s not calming down as days turns into weeks and then months of being together. It’s like he’s building up Adachi’s tolerance for romantic gestures, because his gifts grow steadily more extravagant, his gestures more dramatic, his attention even _more_ intense.

Like… like he’s worried about something. Like he has to work at this, steadily escalating for fear of losing Adachi’s attention. Like he thinks that if he relaxes into his role as Adachi’s boyfriend, even a little, Adachi will slip through his fingers.

“How is it that every day I love you even more?” Kurosawa had asked Adachi recently, but it was different to his sweet nothings, different to his teasing, different to his easy declarations of affection. This was murmured into Adachi’s hair so softly Adachi barely caught it. Raw in its sincerity, entirely open and unadorned.

It sounded confused, overwhelmed. Sounded, almost, like pain.

So Adachi worries. He worries that Kurosawa is worried. Worries, too, that his own fumbling, inexperienced attempts to land himself in good-boyfriend territory (Adachi is realistic – _perfect_ is out of the question) fall inevitably short. He also worries, in an anxiety only tangentially related and admittedly irrational, that Kurosawa is _too_ good at this. Good enough to have… well, practiced a lot. They haven’t talked about previous relationships, because Adachi never had any and thought asking about Kurosawa’s would be invasive, but Kurosawa must have had them. He’s just so _romantic_ , like there’s a script he’s reading, or a blueprint he’s using to perfectly time relationship milestones.

Part of Adachi, the exceedingly irrational part that rears its head on his worse days, worries that it’s all a game. That Kurosawa is _too_ perfect and never really loved him at all, that he’s been playing with him this whole time and will laugh and leave and Adachi will be left broken-hearted and ruined for anyone else. (Adachi has quite literally read Kurosawa’s mind and knows for a fact this isn’t true, but this part of him doesn’t listen to a thing as mundane as ‘logic’.) Another part of him, this one slightly more grounded in reality but no less irrational, wholeheartedly believes that Kurosawa does, in fact, love him as much as he says he does, but that his love will inevitably burn out and he’ll lose interest in Adachi. That he’ll realise his affection was mistaken, that there’s nothing worth staying for, and leave Adachi desolate and wallowing in both heartbreak and his own profound inadequacy. Then there’s a third part of him, the most rational of the bunch but unfortunately drowned out by the blaring sirens of the other two, that reminds him Kurosawa’s behaviour probably has nothing to do with Adachi at all, actually. That Kurosawa is a person with his own anxieties and insecurities, as well as very particular ideas of how a romantic relationship should go, and is probably motivated by holding himself to his own impossible ideal. 

To sum it all up, Adachi spirals for a bit. He bounces from one anxiety to the next, from one concocted version of reality to another, with brief moments of reprieve when he’s actually _with_ Kurosawa – kind, attentive, devoted Kurosawa who loves Adachi and would never want to hurt him – until he’s left alone to spiral all over again.

But Adachi has learned from his past mistakes. Even though it’s hard, even though his first instinct is to run and hide and withdraw as deep as he can into his shell, he doesn’t. He forces himself to breathe. Forces himself to be brave. Forces himself to pick up his phone when he finally musters the courage and, before he can second guess himself for the hundredth time, he texts Kurosawa:

_Can we talk?_

\- - -

In retrospect, texting Kurosawa that particular phrase in the middle of the day was a bad move, and Adachi is really, profoundly bad at this whole boyfriend thing. But retrospect is always a cruel and unforgiving teacher.

Kurosawa catches the train with him back to Adachi’s apartment. Quiet, tense, wooden. And Adachi is so worked up he doesn’t even notice that Kurosawa is acting strangely.

He doesn’t _notice_. Not any of it. Not even the glaringly obvious warning sign that is Kurosawa _not_ taking his hand on the walk home from the train station, when it’s usually the first thing Kurosawa does after they step off the train.

Adachi is the worst boyfriend. He doesn’t even notice, not in the office, not on the way home, not right until the moment he steps over the threshold of his apartment, dropping his bag and peeling out of his coat, then turns back around to find Kurosawa hovering in the doorway all stiff shoulders and clenched jaw.

“Kurosawa?” Adachi blurts like an idiot. Sheer force of habit, since they’re just home from the office, and Adachi always addresses him by family name there.

 _Kurosawa_. Not _Yuichi_. And Kurosawa flinches. His hands clench into fists then release again, a sharp involuntary motion. He takes a deep, steadying breath and forces a smile onto his face that doesn’t meet his eyes.

It's awkward. The air between them is so _tense_ , and Kurosawa so unlike himself, that Adachi chokes up almost immediately. Baffled, caught off-guard.

An idiot. A complete and utter idiot of a boyfriend.

“You wanted to talk?” Kurosawa says slowly. He hasn’t moved from the doorway. He’s just standing there, rictus smile on his face, his whole body so rigid it looks like something might snap.

Adachi, baffled and unbalanced, starts stammering. “Yeah, I… it’s difficult to say. I’m not sure how to do it, but I… come in, this should be private.”

Kurosawa doesn’t come in. He presses a hand to the doorframe as though steadying himself. Swallows, and his smile wavers and falls only for him to force it back on again. “You can say what you need to say.”

And Adachi’s mind comes to a screaming halt. He takes in the tension, the strange energy, the _expression_ on Kurosawa’s face. Finally, _finally_ realises that something is wrong, that Kurosawa isn’t coming in, that Kurosawa looks…

 _Scared_. He looks scared.

Adachi’s mouth drops open. His mind races, trying to catch whatever upset Kurosawa, why he’s looking at Adachi like that, why…

And then it clicks. _Can we talk_ – practically code for _I’m breaking up with you_. Which Adachi, a complete novice when it comes to relationships, didn’t even think of when he sent the text. And which now sees him practically scrambling over himself in his haste to correct.

“Not like that! Not like that! I just want to talk to you, I – I didn’t mean like – it’s not what you think.” He’s not even making _sense._ His arms flail wildly around his head, wordless in his panic. “I’m not – it’s not – I…”

Kurosawa doesn’t interrupt him, never interrupts Adachi’s stammering, but for once Adachi really wishes he would. Kurosawa is just watching him, waiting like a man awaiting judgment, and Adachi can’t _speak_. His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.

Breathe. Calm down. Breathe.

“I’m not – breaking up with you!” he finally manages. “I sent that text because I’d just worked up the courage to ask, I didn’t mean – that.”

Kurosawa’s eyes scan his face. He exhales. Steps into the apartment at last and shuts the door behind him, though he still doesn’t take off his coat.

“You had me worried for a moment,” he says, and he says it like it’s a joke, smile more natural, tone light. But there’s something keenly vulnerable underneath, and Adachi is the _worst_ boyfriend who ever lived.

Kurosawa must have worried all day. He was quiet in the afternoon meeting, muted, disengaged. And he looked so _scared_ just now, scared like Adachi has never seen him, the unflappably radiant Kurosawa white-knuckled and tense as a bowstring in the door of Adachi’s tiny studio apartment.

Adachi broke up with him once before, but he never saw that face, never saw through the cracks in Kurosawa’s kindness. But now it’s different. _Every day I love you even more_ , Kurosawa had said. Adachi leaving him weeks into their relationship was bad enough for Kurosawa, even though he’s never blamed Adachi for it. But losing him after all these months, now there’s so very much to lose…

Kurosawa _loves_ Adachi. He really, really loves him. Of course he’d get scared, if he thinks Adachi is leaving him again.

“I’m sorry, I made a mess of things,” Adachi says miserably. He's _terrible_ at this.

“Kiyoshi?” Kurosawa says. He tilts his head, concerned, and opens his arms. Tentative, as if unsure of his welcome, and Adachi steps into the embrace even though he doesn’t deserve it. Buries his face in Kurosawa’s neck, breathing in the smell of him, letting out an inarticulate noise of frustration at himself.

One of Kurosawa’s arms wraps around Adachi’s waist, pulling him in closer, the other coming up to stroke his hair.

“I made a mistake again,” Adachi mumbles. Kurosawa doesn’t like it when he says things like _I’m an idiot_ , but the sentiment is very much there.

Kurosawa huffs a laugh, but not at him - a release of tension. Adachi can feel it draining out of him, tight muscles softening as Kurosawa’s hold on Adachi turns sure and familiar, hesitance fading. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. No harm done.”

His voice is warm again, and when Adachi pulls back he’s greeted by one of Kurosawa’s truest smiles, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle and go all soft. Kurosawa brings a hand to Adachi’s face, running his thumb over Adachi’s cheekbone. Leans in for a kiss, but gives Adachi plenty of time to pull away.

Still careful. Still so careful, checking for permission, wary of taking anything for granted, especially after their little misunderstanding. _The perfect boyfriend_ , Adachi thinks unhappily.

He kisses him, though. Cups his hand around the back of Kurosawa’s neck, and reassures him as best he can.

Kurosawa is himself again when they part. All blinding light and casual confidence, as though nothing ever happened. He pulls off his coat, putting it on its usual hanger, rolling up his sleeves. Relaxed, comfortable.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “Shall I make dinner first, or did you want to talk now?”

What Adachi _wants_ , right now, is to slam his own head repeatedly into a hard surface. This whole misunderstanding is so _stupid_. One anxious text, then Kurosawa was panicking, then _Adachi_ was panicking, and now Kurosawa’s acting like nothing ever happened. Like Adachi _didn’t_ completely ruin his day and make him worry for no reason.

It's just... Kurosawa looked so scared. He looked _scared_ , even if he's smiling cheerfully now. And it’s that look Adachi can’t get out of his head, because Adachi can hurt Kurosawa. A belated realisation, perhaps, but a necessary one. He’s never had that kind of power over anyone before, not really, not with something so small. Adachi leaving would hurt Kurosawa deeply, he knows that, but it runs far deeper. All Adachi has to do is be thoughtless, and careless, and absorbed in his own worries, and he can hurt Kurosawa without even realising he’s doing it.

“Can’t you just get angry at me sometimes?” he says. He’s not sure why – it bursts out of him unexpectedly.

It’s just that Kurosawa is so _good_ to him. So kind and considerate, endlessly respectful and affectionate in equal measure. He’s a perfect boyfriend. Not a perfect man, because they’ve talked about that before, and Kurosawa is better at letting his guard down and letting Adachi see his imperfections, but in his role of boyfriend? Flawless.

It’s a difficult distinction to explain, even in Adachi’s own head. Kurosawa is just… he’s just so perfect at _this_. He’s a dream boyfriend. He’s _too_ forgiving, and too generous by far. And Adachi worries.

“Why would I be angry with you?” Kurosawa says, looking so genuinely confused that Adachi wishes he could shake him.

“I made you worry for no reason.”

_Be angry. Sulk. Make me work to make it up to you._

But Kurosawa is Kurosawa. He does none of those things. Just smiles softly, comfortingly. “A misunderstanding. It happens. But come on, what did you want to talk to me about?”

The words don’t come easily. Adachi is in full agitated mode, and he stammers out a few syllables before forcing himself to stop, to breathe, to actually think about what he wants to say and how he wants to say it.

Kurosawa waits. Completely patient and understanding, as he always is.

 _What_ an evening. But it's too late to turn back now.

“I’ve noticed,” Adachi says, launching into it while he still has the courage to do so, “that you do a lot. For me. I’ve been worrying that you’re trying too hard to make me happy with all the romantic gestures. Like there’s some sort of… perfect boyfriend guideline you’re following. You do all these romantic things all the time, but you don’t have to. I don’t need you to be a perfect boyfriend, I just… I just need you.”

He dares a look at Kurosawa’s face. He’s gone still, eyes wide and lips parted, and Adachi quickly looks at the floor again.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I didn’t know how else to bring it up. I know we’ve talked about it before, and you’ve been letting your guard down around me. I appreciate that. But I was worried that you still feel like you have to try hard to be good to me, and to spoil me, but I really just want you to be happy,” Adachi pauses. Adds, while he’s at it, “And you’re allowed to get mad at me when I mess up, too.”

His heart is pounding in his chest. He thinks – he _thinks_ that’s everything, and he can only hope it made some semblance of sense. He feels exhausted all of a sudden, all of the energy going out of him in a sudden whoosh, even as he waits for Kurosawa’s reply.

It doesn’t come quickly. Kurosawa is quiet a long moment, and all Adachi hears is his own unsteady breathing. Then Kurosawa steps forward. Reaches out and grabs Adachi unexpectedly, and Adachi yelps as he’s pulled into Kurosawa’s arms.

Kurosawa stares into his eyes. Hands firm in the small of Adachi’s back.

“You need me, huh?” he says, quirking his lips into a smile. Teasingly, laughingly – again with that vulnerability underneath, betrayed by the look in his eyes and the way he holds Adachi against him, his grip just a little too tight.

“Yuichi, I’m serious,” Adachi mumbles, feeling himself flush under the intensity of Kurosawa’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Kurosawa says. He smiles again, both sheepish and fliratious. “I stopped listening after you said you need me.”

Adachi squawks and makes to pull back, but Kurosawa doesn’t let him. The resistance startles Adachi into stillness again, blinking up at him, Kurosawa’s arms tight around him and Kurosawa’s eyes so very dark. Staring at Adachi's eyes, his lips, tracing over the lines of Adachi's face with something like hunger. After a moment, though, he seems to remember himself. Releases his grip on Adachi, pulling his hands reluctantly away.

Kurosawa loves him, in a way Adachi still can't entirely wrap his head around. Kurosawa wants him. But Kurosawa always, always lets him go. 

Adachi's heart is beating too fast. He wants, more than anything, to step back into Kurosawa's arms and forget about this conversation entirely. But he has to do this. Now or never. Now, or he worries he won't be able to talk about it again.

“You don’t have to perform for me,” he blurts out, and he doesn't realise the truth of it until the words are already out of his mouth. Sometimes it's like Kurosawa is playing a role, a part. His real imperfect self, but playing the role perfectly, a degree of separation far enough to have some plausible deniability. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it or anything. But you don’t have to do so much.”

“I waited a long time to do these things with you,” Kurosawa says lightly. No blame, only explanation, picking up the threads of conversation as gracefully as ever, as though he didn't have Adachi pressed up against him mere moments ago. And Adachi knows better than anyone that Kurosawa is a romantic, and they both know he knows, but he’s also sure Kurosawa knows Adachi is referring to more than that.

Kurosawa liking to do couple things from time to time is one thing. Kurosawa liking to give him kisses and gifts and generally being affectionate is one thing. But most couples calm down after months of dating and promises on both sides, and Kurosawa _escalating_ is something a bit different.

“I like spoiling you,” Kurosawa continues, but Adachi shakes his head.

“Yuichi.”

Adachi says his name softly, but Kurosawa still flinches. Caught, struggling, Adachi can see he is, because Kurosawa’s instinct is to smile and reassure him but Adachi is asking him to do the opposite entirely. To share his fears. To be his real, imperfect self. It’s not easy, because he wants to be the perfect boyfriend to Adachi, and to do that he has to _stop_ doing that, specifically because Adachi asked.

Kurosawa is so much more complicated than Adachi realised back before he got his magic. Kurosawa gets caught in contradictory cognitive loops too, even if they’re of a different kind than Adachi’s. He gets caught up in his insecurities (and learning that a man as beautiful, charming and popular as Kurosawa even _has_ them is a lesson in and of itself) and can’t always find his way out again. He gets flustered, and panicked, and acts strangely when he’s feeling cornered, just like anyone else.

He worries about things he doesn’t need to, sometimes. Gets scared of things that aren’t true.

“I’ve been trying too hard again. I’m sorry,” Kurosawa says, and Adachi thinks that’s all the explanation he’ll get. But then Kurosawa swallows. Says, quiet and raw, unable to look Adachi in the eye, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

It punches the breath from Adachi’s lungs. He can’t move, can’t speak.

“I want to make you happy, always,” Kurosawa continues, because he’s so much braver than Adachi will ever be. “I never want you to have a reason to look for someone else, or to feel unsatisfied. You’re the person I want to marry.”

It’s another blow, because Adachi knows that, but he also doesn’t. They don’t talk about it so explicitly, not even with their matching pens and the promise of _forever_. He knows it, but doubts it. Knows it but isn’t sure if he’s ready, not yet, even though it’s something he wants some day too.

Kurosawa likes to be perfect. But he’s trying to be more himself around Adachi, because Adachi asked. Trying, also, to _keep_ Adachi by being such an excellent boyfriend that Adachi could never want anyone else. Two contradictory impulses that co-exist inside him while, simultaneously, he tries desperately hard _not_ to try too hard.

He’s difficult. He’s complicated. Adachi doesn’t understand how Kurosawa’s mind works, and he doesn’t understand how Kurosawa can’t see what Adachi sees, can’t see himself the way Adachi sees him, flaws and all. Doesn’t understand how Kurosawa – endlessly popular Kurosawa, who could have any man or woman he wanted to – gets so insecure about _Adachi_ , of all people. As if anyone else has ever made Adachi feel this way. As if anyone else ever could.

“You know there’s never been anyone for me but you,” Adachi says. Amazed, afterwards, that he didn’t stammer or stutter or even blush as he said it, as much as he wants to crawl under the floorboards after. It’s just… it’s the truth, that’s all.

Kurosawa’s eyes rise to look at him again, searching Adachi’s face. He nods, something rueful about his expression. He _does_ know. In the same way that Adachi knows Kurosawa loves him, but still gets himself all tangled up in knots about it.

They’re very similar, actually. When you put it that way.

“You don’t need to be perfect,” Adachi says. Then, so Kurosawa can’t mistake him, “At anything. At any of this. You don’t need to try so hard to keep me, I’m not – I’m not going anywhere.”

Kurosawa’s face does something complicated. He extends his hand and Adachi takes it, noting the way Kurosawa relaxes when Adachi lets him draw him in close. Like even now he's uncertain. Like even now he thinks Adachi might refuse him, might turn away, might leave. Even though he knows how Adachi feels about him. Even then.

That feeling, at least, Adachi understands.

Kurosawa kisses him. And after, Kurosawa buries his face in Adachi’s hair, breathing in a slow, steady breath. Inhaling him, as Kurosawa often does. Drawing him in closer again, like Adachi is never quite close enough.

“All right,” he agrees. 

Now, with his arms around Kurosawa's shoulders, practically glued to Kurosawa's chest, Adachi is struck by the realisation that they’re both a bit of a mess in their own ways. That Kurosawa, wonderful man and perfect boyfriend, is every bit as irrational in his own way as Adachi is. An obvious realisation in retrospect, but one that only occurs to Adachi as Kurosawa buries his head in Adachi's shoulder and refuses to let go.

So Kurosawa is complicated. A perfect boyfriend, but complicated in a way that might take a long time to unpack. And somehow, that knowledge makes Adachi worry less.

Kurosawa loves him, even when Adachi doesn't quite believe it. Adachi loves Kurosawa, even when Kurosawa is much the same.

They're both a bit of a mess. But they’re working on it. Together.


End file.
